


tidal wave

by pinksunlight



Series: we were raised under grey (pink, black, peach, brown) skies [6]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - We Got Married, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Outsider, Sort of? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:49:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29600634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinksunlight/pseuds/pinksunlight
Summary: Kun’s developed quite the eye for these sorts of things at this point, some would even say that it comes with the territory, what with his seven years spent behind the cameras for We Got Married.Personally, he believes it’s a healthy combination of nature and nurture that gives him the confidence to be able to take one look at up-and-coming rookie actor Lee Mark and instinctively know that he’ll be leaving in a few months’ time with a broken heart.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Series: we were raised under grey (pink, black, peach, brown) skies [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121540
Comments: 14
Kudos: 83





	tidal wave

**Author's Note:**

> i've only watched clips of sungjoy on wgm tbh but i don't go into too many details, so it should be fine. (note: the show is not being aired as it's being filmed in this fic, it'll be released after everything's filmed and wrapped up)
> 
> _[but](https://open.spotify.com/album/3cS0qzNDjE5SjdAL1W98fo?highlight=spotify:track:29jNL7NC36DDCl695hWwEO) we had a good love, didn't we?  
> a real love, didn't we?  
> the tears we cried won't wash it away  
> we're riding on a tidal wave  
> but everyone the ocean banks  
> is born to break_
> 
> _but you never got the chance to see  
>  the boy i wish that i could be  
> the promises i could keep  
> for you_

Kun’s developed quite the eye for these sorts of things at this point, some would even say that it comes with the territory, what with his seven years spent behind the cameras for We Got Married.

Personally, he believes it’s a healthy combination of nature and nurture that gives him the confidence to be able to take one look at up-and-coming rookie actor Lee Mark and instinctively know that he’ll be leaving in a few months’ time with a broken heart.

Usually, such blatant vulnerability in a participant would warrant a grave warning and a thick padding of two full rolls of caution tape, all in the hopes of sparking an understanding that they mustn’t, under any circumstances, let themselves fall.

He’s been forced to adopt a protocol for when all the red flags fly into the air, but maybe he isn’t as seasoned a pseudo-showrunner as many think he is (really, all his experience doesn’t negate the fact that he is, at the end of the day, just a cameraman, no matter how much creative control he’s been entrusted with over the years), because when Mark finally reaches Kun after his cursory round of greetings to everyone else, all Kun does is smile kindly and gesture to the stool where he’ll be seated for his pre-meet interview.

Mark checks all the boxes of a young actor newly broken into the scene, full of enthusiasm that’s curbed only by a tinge of shyness—which works to his favour anyway, because who doesn’t adore a clumsy, endearing personality suffused with good manners to boot? Honestly, Kun still doesn’t think he’ll walk away unscathed, but having appraised him for a while longer, he figures that Mark is smart enough to know when to drag his heart back up his sleeve and stuff it into his chest.

He’s fresh and innocent, sure, but there’s a steady determination there, too, that Kun makes silent note of as Mark takes a seat in front of the black backdrop.

Maybe this is a boy who can think with his head instead of his heart, maybe this is a boy who will _want_ to. Kun hopes, for his sake, that that’s true.

So, instead of pulling him aside to an empty room and telling him to lose the shine in his eyes, string chains through his ribs to create a latticed wall, pull on a mask and learn to breathe from under it, Kun sits behind the camera pointed at Mark with questions ready in his hands.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mark. I’ll be working with you over the next eight months or so, so please don’t hesitate to come to me with any questions or concerns.” He shuffles the papers, evening them out with a quick tap the thigh. When he looks up, Mark resembles a newly constructed monument, unpolished with a chip in his side, the mark of an amateur.

One strong blow, that’s all it would take for him to come crashing down.

Still, the _maybe you should rethink doing this show_ goes unsaid, and Kun swallows past it to conclude, “We’ll just be asking you some basic things about yourself and your thoughts on the show, today. Don’t worry too much and try to be honest. Welcome to We Got Married, Mark.”

Mark smiles, and the cameras roll.

Over the years, Kun has learned that it pays to know the celebrities you work with. Not in a _your favourite colour is purple and you don’t like tofu in hot and sour soup_ kind of way, but more in a _I can recite all of your credentials without having to think twice_ kind of way. They become more agreeable, easier to work with when they believe that you’re aware of their status, their talent, their expectations, and consequently, your place.

Mark, perhaps because he’s still new, perhaps because he was born with a heart spun from gold, doesn’t expect anyone to read up on him beforehand, taking notes and highlighting what’s important so they don’t fail any surprise tests. He goes around with pure intentions, keeping an even 1:1 ratio in conversations so they never lean too heavily towards one person. Never flaunting, never fronting, but flushing pretty easily when someone happens to have seen his work.

In spite of this, Kun still knows Mark’s—albeit small—filmography through and through, which is why he’d been pleasantly surprised upon learning that the first meeting between Mark and his future husband revolved around a scene from Mark’s debut drama. Even more shocking had been receiving the news that said future husband approached the concept team with the idea himself, armed with a bright smile and a detailed plan sitting in his notes app.

Everything has been set up perfectly with Mark sitting at a desk in a classroom wearing a uniform he only outgrew some three years ago, bathed in the soft afternoon glow cast by the light streaming in through the windows. Kun stands at the front of the classroom, camera perched on a stand, focused first on Mark’s nervous fingers, then panning up to the boyish planes of his face.

Filming started about five minutes ago, and if schedules hold any kind of authority at all, Mark’s mystery boy should be showing up very soon. Not knowing anything that’s about to happen must be painful though, because Mark shifts for the nth time, shoes tapping against hardwood arrhythmically.

“Dang, why does this feel sort of… ominous,” he laughs. Kun’s about to think that for all the praise he receives, Mark’s acting needs a bit of work, his true emotions bleed through easily and lace his laughter with nerves. But then he backtracks and realizes that Mark isn’t a bad actor, he’s just being himself.

Mark could pretend to be calm, cool and collected, but he chooses not to. Right now, there is no character to play. Simple as that.

Faint footsteps can be heard in the distance, then, and Kun zooms out to get a clear picture of the classroom as Joohyun, his second, swings her camera to focus on the door. Mark starts, scrambling to sit with better posture, limbs going as stiff as the uniform he’s wearing. Kun holds back an amused smile when Mark attempts to tame his already styled hair and, after taking in a deep breath, closes his eyes.

“I really hope I’m not about to get murdered,” Mark voices, obviously going for casual even as his smile wavers with each footstep that draws closer. “It’s concerning enough as an actor to not have a script, but man, walking into the briefing room and getting an itinerary that just says ‘keep eyes closed and wait’ is somehow so much worse—wait, is he—uh, are you here?”

Mark cocks his ear out to the side, eyes still closed as he tries picking up on any sounds. It’s quiet for a brief moment before the door slowly slides open and golden light pours onto the grinning figure behind it.

Lee Donghyuck, rookie actor with exactly two months and one major movie’s worth of experience more than Mark.

The sunlight gives his skin a luminescent quality, and he wears a cheeky expression that Kun knows to be characteristic of him. He brings a finger up to his lips, signalling the staff to stay quiet, and throws in a wink towards Joohyun’s camera for good measure before beginning an exaggerated tiptoe across the classroom until he’s standing right behind Mark, who stills, finally aware.

“You’re here,” Mark says, confident this time. A small, crooked smile takes over his face. “Now the only question is, are you here to kill me, or marry me?”

Perhaps Donghyuck had heard Mark’s earlier musings because the corner of his lips quirks up and an interested, almost satisfied gleam passes over his eyes.

Kun purses his lips and looks at the two of them through the screen, angling the camera so they’re fixed on the left of a wide shot, beams of light cascading in from the right. Something about already seeing them like this, words and actions balanced precariously on the line between something real and something for the cameras, unleashes a thin wave of unease inside of him.

Note-to-self: Just follow the damn protocol next time.

Donghyuck doesn’t reply verbally; he curves his hands around Mark’s eyes like a blindfold, tapping his thumbs once, twice, thrice against his temples in the exact way Mark’s love interest had in _Seventh Sense_ , his first drama. It’d been a confession scene, if Kun recalls correctly, the scene where Mark’s character had professed his love innocently, saying—

“If this is a surprise,” Mark starts slowly, eyebrows relaxing as he seems to recognize what’s going on. Hesitantly, he brings up his own pale hands to cover Donghyuck’s. “If that’s what this is supposed to really be, you’re not nearly as smart as I’ve always believed you to be.”

Donghyuck seems more than pleased with the reaction, letting Mark pull his hands away from his eyes to lay over his shoulders. Mark opens his eyes, looks at Donghyuck’s hands like the fingerprints might tell him who they belonged to, but doesn’t look back, waiting with a patience that Kun didn’t know someone so young could have.

“And why is that?” Donghyuck asks sweetly, voice lilting in an almost perfect imitation of the girl in the drama. Amusement flits quickly across Mark’s face.

“Because you’ll never be a surprise to me.” Across the room, off camera, the new intern—Dejun, Kun thinks—mouths the words in time with Mark, evidently a fan. “You could take away all my senses and I’d still be able to recognize you in a heartbeat, so when you’ve given me your touch, your voice, it’s impossible to think, even for a second, that I wouldn’t know.”

“We’ve got a poet in our midst.”

Mark smiles. “Only for you…”

He trails off, clearly expecting a name. Donghyuck obliges, pulling his hands out of Mark’s to fold them behind his back as he leans down, bringing his face right next to Mark’s—and Kun sees the exact moment Mark slips.

His lips part minutely, smile going slack as he blinks a couple times, rapid and disbelieving. Then, like nothing happened, he’s got a small, almost shy smile back on.

An inch or two away from their noses touching, Donghyuck’s beam must be blinding, Kun reasons that’s why he softens it into something more sincere and contained. His voice is soft and excited all at once as he introduces himself.

“Lee Donghyuck. Not a murderer, but I _have_ been called drop-dead gorgeous before, if that counts.” He angles his face to the left, then the right, as if giving Mark a chance to examine it. “What do you think? Too much?”

The clouds shift outside, sucking the natural light out of the room, and for a moment, the world seems to have come to a pause. Kun’s fingers adjust the exposure on his camera naturally, leaving him to survey the room. The crew is quiet, barely moving, they might as well be mannequins. Somehow, no one is looking at Mark and Donghyuck—no one except Kun, who gets to witness the two of them draw closer and closer into each other’s gravitational orbits until they’re trapped. Not spinning around each other just yet, but there are matching saccharine swirls in their eyes even in the absence of sunlight, searching for something (subtly, because god knows Kun can’t figure out _what_ ).

And then, the clouds part, light breaks through again, brighter than before, and Mark and Donghyuck are cast in a spotlight.

“No,” Mark breathes. He clears his throat, pulls back a bit, smiles amicably like he hadn’t been struck by an arrow only moments ago. Kun holds back a sigh. “No, drop-dead gorgeous is spot-on, actually.”

“What would be your perfect date, then?”

“God, hyung,” Donghyuck groans, head falling easily onto Mark’s shoulder, “ever heard of this little thing called adventure? At least _try_ to be subtle.”

Kun flicks his eyes away from the lens to glance down the road again, wondering when the bus would get here. Any longer under the sun and his visions of the entire crew reduced to beige puddles spread thinly on the hot pavement would come true.

He presses his lips into a tight line when no large vehicles come barreling up the road and fixes his attention back on the two boys.

Mark hasn’t made any moves to push Donghyuck off his shoulder, doesn’t even spout any griping remarks about the heat.

It’s a rare bout of calm waters, a striking contrast to the usual tumultuous waves their on-screen relationship rides on. In the last few shoots, precisely two defining features have been established about the pair: Donghyuck takes steps forward, rough and unbridled and dauntless. And Mark’s responsibility is to either playfully push back or shuffle away right before Donghyuck breaks at his feet.

“Adventure?” Mark asks, scrunching up his nose as if deep in thought. “Is that Korean?”

“Shut up,” Donghyuck laughs quietly into Mark’s shoulder, pinching the skin of his thigh right below his shorts. “You said you only lived in Canada for a few years, don’t try pulling the foreigner card on me.”

Kun shifts his weight onto his right foot, keeping the camera steady as he reaches up to dab at the beads of sweat steadily trailing down his temples. Beside him, Dejun takes notice and offers him a water bottle with a straw in it, eyes wide. Kun smiles and shakes his head, receiving a shy smile back as Dejun goes back to watching the pair with something akin to endearment.

Kun gets it. It’s hard not to be endeared, honestly.

The two of them are comfortably pressed against each other in a way that is immovable, impenetrable, not even the thick summer heat capable of slipping between them to act as a buffer. Kun sifts through seven years’ worth of memories, moving aside layer after layer trying to remember if he’s ever worked with a couple who’d gotten so close to each other so fast. There are two girls that come close, very close, but even they don’t wholly measure up.

“Really though,” Mark insists, mouth thinning for a millisecond when Donghyuck finally lifts his head off his shoulder, “what’s your idea of a perfect date?”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, but he’s already opening his mouth to reply.

DONGHYUCK INT. CUT – ep. 8 [rough]

**J: How did you feel when you first realized what Mark’s plan was?**

D: [Laughs] I… well, it certainly wasn’t what I was expecting! And to think, I was lecturing _him_ on the importance of adventure and surprises. I knocked out in the car in like, two minutes because I’d been working late the night before, so I literally had no clue where we were when he woke me up. Believe me when I say I think I genuinely almost cried when I saw the mountain. I mean, c’mon! It’s 6:30 in the morning, and I’m apparently about to hike up one of the tallest mountains in Korea? Yeah, no thanks.

**J: You say that now, but you didn’t actually end up saying no, is that right?**

D: I mean, how could I? You were there, noona, he looked so excited! And at that point, I was still under the impression that he was being 100% serious about everything, so I let out a few obligatory complaints and then tied my hoodie around my waist to get to business [laughs]. Don’t get it twisted, though, I _was_ a little… annoyed? To put it nicely? It was like, ‘Was he even listening when I was telling him about my perfect date? Because physical activities were definitely a no-no.’ I suppose, knowing Mark, I should’ve known something more was up.

**J: What do you mean?**

D: You know. He’s just—I haven’t known him all that long, obviously, but you can tell he’s a good guy. Don’t tell him I said that. I just think he’s the type to give the person he—to give the people he keeps close his undivided attention and keep what they say in mind. A good guy. Yeah.

**J: That’s very sweet of you, Donghyuck.**

D: Oh—well, I guess it is? I’m just telling you the truth though, honest. Plus, it became _very_ clear that he hadn’t forgotten anything I’d told him when we kept doing things that directly opposed everything I’d told him about my perfect date. Hot snacks on a hot day, the god-awful matching outfits we bought and changed into, spending time in the manga section of the library when he _knows_ my dream is to be, like, read a poem out loud that’s about love or something. To top it all off, he brought me to the beach at the end of the day… he’s something, that’s for sure.

**J: After catching on, you could’ve stopped him and told him he’d made his point. Why didn’t you?**

D: [Pause] To tell you the truth, I didn’t want to. It was cute, I mean, he did end up bringing me an adventure I never would’ve expected, especially from him, and he made everything feel so fun even if I wouldn’t have usually liked it, you know? Plus, it was like something straight out of a rom-com. ‘Lee Donghyuck and The Worst Date Ever’! I got to guilt trip him into doing a lot for me, too, just because I could. Like at the beach, I made him give me his hoodie to sit on because I hate the sand [laughs]. He’s so easy. It was a good day.

**J: Apparently good enough to propose. I know that wasn’t planned, so what made you do it?**

D: Hah—is this still—nevermind, actually. Yeah, so, I kind of moved up the proposal, whoops. I guess… I’m not sure. He thought it was so funny when we got to the beach at sunset because I’d told him how much I hated sand getting everywhere and the ‘watching the sun set together’ cliché, and he was laughing so hard his voice kept squeaking and it was honestly, kind of, uh, really adorable. I was just looking at him, and I knew I should’ve been annoyed, but I couldn’t stop smiling along with him. I wasn’t even thinking, I just got down on one knee even though I knew the sand would stick to my skin, and I popped the question while he still had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. Yeah… [smiles] it was precious, he saw me and went all stutter-y because he didn’t know what to do. [Pause] Um, sorry, are we still rolling? Oh, no, it’s fine. Maybe—sorry, actually, but do you mind editing some of that out—

“Mark.”

Mark looks up from the crouch he’s been cemented in for the past two minutes while making the quintessential decision between buying Doritos or Ruffles. He blinks, eyes big and questioning as he comes out of his chips differentiating stupor, and then takes a quick look around, eyebrows quickly furrowing in confusion.

“Wait, where did everyone go? We’re leaving already?”

Kun rolls his right shoulder, wincing at the dull ache that’s been steadily accruing throughout the day. The crew had left the grocery store five minutes ago to pack up the equipment, but of course Mark hadn’t caught wind of it, he’d been too busy caught up in the consequences of having a crush (re: overthinking to the point of insanity).

“Your husband is apparently a much quicker thinker than you are,” Kun informs him drily. Mark could definitely take a couple of pointers. “He finished picking his food about half an hour ago. Joohyun says she can’t film another second of him complaining about going through ‘Mark withdrawal’, so we’re heading out.”

Mark snickers, swiping a random bag of chips entirely—great, so _now_ he’s decisive—and springs up just like that. “He’s so dramatic, I’m never letting him live that one down.”

Kun nods sagely, patting him on the back. “Sure, kid. Does this mean I can tell him about the, oh, fifteen times you turned around and said his name only to remember he wasn’t with you?”

“What—hyung, no! That’s not even true, oh my god,” Mark scowls like the mere idea of such a thing is offensive, but the tips of his ears are stained pink. He mumbles some more flimsy excuses as he starts pushing the cart towards checkout, and normally, Kun would laugh, but there’s something that shaves the laugh down into a half-smile.

Something about the authenticity Mark wears like a second skin, the heart he’s pushed from his sleeve into his palm, the willingness he carries to make a fool of himself if it’s to act on how he’s feeling in any given moment.

We Got Married rarely closes with Happily Ever After’s, but with Mark, there doesn’t even seem to be a chance for a Neutrally Ever After. There’s just the viciously inevitable Painfully Every After that lies in wait four months away, the ending Kun had foreseen before knowing anything else about Mark.

Being right doesn’t always feel good.

“Use the show’s card to pay, alright?” Kun slips Mark the credit card, already turning to exit the store. “I’ll be out by the van, meet us there.”

Outside, the sun has tucked itself under the horizon, leaving the sky a cool, muted blue. Kun takes in a much-needed breath of fresh air as he navigates the lot to reach the van.

The crew had spent all day split up, leaving one half with Donghyuck and the other with Mark as the pair prepared for their date the next day. Given a list of the activities they’d be doing, the plan was for each of them to get the correlating items for the other person without any intercommunication.

This last bit, shopping for the picnic, had been particularly trying. Not only did Mark have very little understanding of what foods were considered appropriate for a picnic, but he also kept second-guessing himself in a way that was equal parts amusing and frustrating (“What if Donghyuck doesn’t like this?” “Wait, we’re _sure_ he’s not allergic to chocolate, right? One-hundred percent?” “Do you think he’d want his favourite childhood snack or his favourite current snack?”).

The mind-boggling barrage of questions only stopped when Kun butted in with an exasperated, “Mark, he’s probably out there right now exclusively buying foods you hate just because he can. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Just thinking about it gives him a headache. Kun sighs wearily as he steps up to the van, pulling the trunk open. Three months in and he was beginning to find less and less entertainment in the two boys’ antics, seemingly innocent infatuation creeping towards something more, something inexplicably tangible. Every time he’s been in a room with Mark and Donghyuck lately, it’s felt like the air was criss-crossed with thin strands of honey, everything draped in a sickly sweet spiderweb.

Falling fast was dangerous, falling hard was life-threatening, but falling fast _and_ hard? Kun might as well have been asked to attend the funerals.

He zips the camera bag up just in time for Mark to pop up and deposit his groceries carefully into the back of the car. Kun shuts the trunk and shoots Mark a small smile, “Ready to go see your other half?”

Mark laughs like Kun’s just being silly, but his eyes crinkle into slivers of truth. “Can’t keep him waiting now, can we?”

The answer to that question is clearly no, if the way Donghyuck throws himself onto Mark the minute they step into the apartment is any indication. Thankfully, Kun’s already got his camera pointed at them, so he doesn’t miss the exact moment Mark flushes, hands hovering over Donghyuck’s back as he stumbles from the sudden weight.

“I missed you, hyung,” Donghyuck huffs into his neck. Peeling away from Mark, he drops his arms to his sides again, but then, almost shyly, he goes to take Mark’s hand in his, cautiously searching his face for a reaction. Mark, if possible, goes even redder, suddenly a stranger to eye contact. But he doesn’t pull away, letting their hands stay intertwined.

If memory serves, which it probably does seeing how Kun has made it a conscious effort to keep a watchful eye on how fast their relationship progresses, this is the first time either boy has attempted to hold the other’s hand. He can already tell that this will be the frame used as a thumbnail for whatever episode this moment ends up being in.

Donghyuck breaks out into an excited grin, all traces of reluctance gone.

“C’mon,” he tugs on Mark’s hand, pulling him deeper into their temporary apartment, “I bought you these super cute pajamas and if you don’t wear them right now, I’m getting a divorce.”

Mark, surprising absolutely no one, follows wordlessly, a dopey smile slowly appearing on his face.

And that’s how they go on for the rest of the evening. Mark changes into a ridiculous red and white moose-print set of pajamas and, upon request, begrudgingly twirls around for Donghyuck to see, composure breaking only when Donghyuck gets a wicked look in his eyes and, pure as an angel, purrs, “You’d make a pretty princess.”

Needless to say, Kun exchanges more than a few pained looks with Joohyun for the duration of the night.

Donghyuck never lets their hands stay detached for too long now that he’s confirmed Mark won’t pull away, he finds ways to cut through the air and slot their fingers together naturally time and time again. Kun is helpless to trail after them through the apartment halls as they play mindless games until they’re laughing so hard they sprawl out on the floor gasping for air, as they attempt cooking late-night snacks and Donghyuck almost drops the chopsticks he’d been stirring the ramen with when Mark hesitantly hooks his chin over Donghyuck’s shoulder, as they exchange secrets over sparkling cider on the kitchen table.

It’s a night of honey strings so thick they keep wrapping around Kun’s limbs, permeating through his skin until he’s thoroughly sugared inside and out. By the time Kun’s sent the crew home and slumped onto the couch, he can’t get rid of the treacly feel to the inside of his mouth.

He relies on the fixed cameras to film as he goes through the footage on his handheld and gives his shoulder a break. Mark and Donghyuck have finally simmered down, a subdued air around them as Mark leads Donghyuck straight into Kun’s direct line of sight, out on the balcony.

Kun can’t make out what they’re saying exactly, but he can tell it’s Mark that speaks softly to Donghyuck, pointing at the sky in different places occasionally. Donghyuck shivers infinitesimally and presses closer to Mark, and Kun can’t help but smile fondly as Mark’s free hand nervously twists the hem of his hoodie behind his back before he quickly puts his other hand, the one entwined with Donghyuck’s, into his pocket.

The camera lays forgotten in Kun’s lap as Donghyuck’s bright laughter floats inside, Kun catches the word _cringe_ leave his mouth and there’s some lighthearted bickering for all of five seconds before they just… stop.

A quietude falls over them, calm and content. Their words aren’t even audible anymore, all Kun sees is Mark sneaking glances at Donghyuck every so often, supposedly listening to him talk about something. It’s strangely captivating, and Kun doesn’t even hear his phone’s alarm going off until it’s reached the third loop.

He pulls his gaze away to check the time: 10 pm. Lights out. The cameras were officially off everywhere except the bedroom, where they’d stay on until midnight.

Kun does his best not to intrude as he comes up behind them to film their silhouettes against the night sky. He pans up and away to account for editing later on, and once the closing shot’s been wrapped up, the tense lines of his body finally soften.

The two only turn around when Kun calls for them.

“Great work today, boys. The schedule for tomorrow starts at 6 on the dot, so double-triple check your alarms, please.” Kun pauses. Then, after some thought, adds, “And make sure your managers have the right time, too. Just in case.”

“Will do, hyung,” Donghyuck affirms, saluting him with his free hand. The other hand still rests in Mark’s pocket. Kun takes in a measured breath.

“The cameras are all off except the ones in the bedroom.”

Mark nods, “We know, heard them whirr off a minute or two ago.”

They don’t move.

Right, so he’ll have to do this the explicit way, then.

Kun rubs his forehead, gathering strength, before slowly looking between the two of them, and then dropping his gaze pointedly at their hands nestled in the front of Mark’s hoodie. They both look down, then at each other, and then they’re jumping apart, almost comically, hands immediately coming undone. Donghyuck laughs, an awkward, forced little thing, and inches his way past Kun, red-faced as he throws out something about brushing his teeth before bed.

Mark watches him go almost regretfully, then brings his attention to his hands like he’s seeing them for the first time. Something new dawns on his face, and he quickly shoves his hands into his pockets and turns back to Kun. Even then, he can’t match his gaze, opting to let his eyes wander as he adopts a sheepish smile.

“Guess we got to used too the feeling, hah. I just, uh, forgot.”

Kun has half a mind to cut through all the honey right there and then, but he settles on shooting Mark a knowing look for now.

“Careful,” he cautions, not bothering to elaborate. Mark must get it, because at the end of the day, he really isn’t stupid, just very, very inclined to take risks. He nods, feet shuffling.

The chip in his side has been steadily growing, and Kun wonders if he can feel it, can feel himself starting to slide off balance, tilt to one side. It must be disorienting. Kun is tempted to roll his eyes at himself—disorienting is an understatement; it must be _terrifying_.

And yet, here he stands, perfectly balanced despite the shift.

Kun laughs softly and reaches over to ruffle Mark’s hair before twisting around to leave. “You’re okay, Mark. Sleep well.”

“Night, hyung.”

“—and then she said we might have to come back on the show because we’re getting boring.” Doyoung laughs into his cup, taking a sip afterwards. “But we stayed in anyway because she didn’t want to miss the last episode of that drama I was telling you about.”

“It literally never fails to astound me how perfect you two are for each other,” Ten shakes his head, somehow managing to sound doting and disgusted all at once. He rounds on Kun with a sly grin, poking his thigh under the table. “Can’t you hook me up with my own soulmate?”

Kun snorts. “Get famous, and then we’ll talk.”

That sets Ten off on his infamous I’m Just A Different Type Of Famous rant where he aggressively argues that being a choreographer should definitely earn him more social capital than being a singer, much to Doyoung’s chagrin. Kun leans back in his chair, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweater as he plays spectator to their bickering match.

It’s his first day off in months, WGM taking a short week’s break for Chuseok.

Against his better judgement, he’d invited Ten and Doyoung out for brunch after some very passive aggressive texts were sent his way in their groupchat about how long it’d been since they’d all hung out together, and it’d landed them here: sitting outside a café around a small, metal table, surrounded by couples because the universe decided that Kun’s full-time job wasn’t enough to make him perpetually love-queasy, apparently.

A truck passes by on the street, effectively drowning out Ten and Doyoung’s voices until they resign themselves to yet another battle unwon, and then Doyoung straightens up like he’s remembered something, directing his attention towards Kun.

“Hey, you know those kids you’re working with this season? What were they, actors?”

Kun nods—escaping any and all talk of romance will not be possible today, it seems.

“Right, well, I saw them a while back at the mall. I was out with Ten because I needed help picking out an anniversary gift for Sejeong, and they were in the same store as us.”

Ten lights up, croissant halting in mid-air as he adds, “Oh my god, I almost forgot about that. They were so cute together! Especially that one with the black hair, the not-round one.”

“Don’t be a cougar, Ten,” Kun chides absently, brain wrung dry from having to worry about Mark and Donghyuck yet again. There was always a chance that it was an innocent meeting, it wasn’t unheard of for participants to co-ordinate outings on their own time to build chemistry for the show, but Kun’s gut tells him otherwise.

“Don’t mislabel me,” Ten says at the exact same time Doyoung frowns and asks, “Shouldn’t it be manther?”

“Besides,” Ten waves a hand dismissively while taking a massive bite out of the bread, “his aura screams ‘nation’s little brother’, I meant cute in that way.”

Kun’s not sure about an ‘aura’, but he does agree with Ten. Mark has a quality to him that makes you want to tease him until he’s at his wits end, but fiercely protect him if he’s ever put into harm’s way (heartbreak inclusive). In spite of his attachment to the kid, Kun can’t find it in himself to lug around resentment towards Donghyuck, because seven years of training his eye to spot feelings from a mile away tell him loud and clear that the road they travel on goes two ways.

Kun presses a clean spoon to his temple, relaxing into the cool touch as he turns his gaze onto Doyoung. “Did you see what they were up to?”

Doyoung purses his lips, “I was in the jewelry store when I saw them. They weren’t with their managers, and I think the younger one—Donghyuck?—I think he wanted them to get matching bracelets or something. I’m not sure what section they were in, to be honest, but they looked very… cozy, I guess. Did you give them the talk?”

Kun stares at his empty plate. If anyone knows what cozy looks like, it’d be Doyoung—after all, he’d gone on to marry his partner on WGM.

Of course, that was only possible because of how well-established he and Sejeong had already been in the music industry, coming up on six or seven years by then. Their respective fanbases had grown alongside them, finally entering a stage where the thought of their idols being in relationships excited them more than it did disappoint.

With kids like Mark and Donghyuck, well, the public wasn’t always so forgiving (and don’t even get Kun started on what management would be like).

“I didn’t,” Kun finally admits. “They’re smart, I figured they’d already understand how it all works.”

Ten raises a skeptical eyebrow, no stranger to the shadows WGM tended to cast over its participants long past the last episode. Sejeong didn’t call for months after the show ended, and it was Ten who was tasked with nursing a heartbroken Doyoung back to some semblance of normalcy until he could muster up the courage to call himself. All it had taken was one hour to remedy months of desolation.

“That’s a pretty big assumption to place on a couple of rookies, but even if you’re right, who’s to say they know how to play their cards right _after_ that?” Ten points out, folding his arms across his chest.

Scenario A: They understand, so they ignore the pull. Strictly playing the part of any old character, they get exactly what they desired from the show—publicity, exposure, the works—and leave with no strings attached. The word _despite_ becomes antagonized, but at least they’re safe.

Scenario B: They understand, but they don’t care. The repercussions will be harsh, eventually having to say goodbye will be harsher, but they get a pocket of time to be with each other, even if it is only for so long. _Despite_ becomes laughter and light and memories to last a lifetime.

Kun exhales slowly, breath blanketing the trio in silence. He scans the streets idly, too many thoughts grinding inside his skull to do much else, but then his eye catches on two figures in a small alley across the street, and the grinding comes to an abrupt stop.

It’s absurd. There’s no way they’ve popped up in this place at this time, but fate is a funny thing and familiarity even more so, it takes less than a heartbeat for Kun to reconcile the distant blocky shapes with names and faces he knows all too well by now.

There’s no doubting it. Leaning back against the brick wall stands Mark, hood so large it nearly hangs over his eyes, but there’s no missing the expression on his face as he watches a ballcapped Donghyuck gesture animatedly in front of him—quiet amusement, maybe a bit overwhelmed.

Someone passes by, clearly in a rush, and manages to accidentally send Donghyuck stumbling forward into Mark, who’s quick to steady him by the shoulders. Their eyes meet, and there are a few seconds in which they just look, closer than they should be especially in public, and Kun wonders if they can taste the danger, if their lives are flashing in front of their eyes, if they see each other, if they _see_ each other.

Donghyuck’s the first to shake his head almost imperceptibly, hair bouncing as he does so, and he opens his mouth again to continue speaking. Mark’s hands slide down Donghyuck’s shoulders, his forearms, his wrists—and that’s where they stay, gently wrapping around them and keeping him close, not that Donghyuck looks like he’ll step away any time soon. The smile he speaks through grows wider, and Mark’s head tilts to the side as he keeps watching, eyes sparkling.

Inexplicably, something sad and bitter pulses lowly through Kun, and he rips his gaze away.

Doyoung snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Do you think you’ll talk to them? You still have time.”

Kun shakes his head, feels like the biggest liar in the universe. “They won’t get in too deep. Besides, we’re nearly done, it’s a little complicated but it’ll work out, probably.”

Complicated is an oversimplification.

Here is what he remembers:

Three years working with We Got Married and Kun is starting to think he has the job down pat, no longer filled to the brim with novice questions, no longer the go-to for coffee runs and tedious paperwork. He’s got callouses on his palms, now, from holding a camera, and main camerawoman Taeyeon makes it a point to tell him that the position for her second would be opening up soon.

Enter Hwang Yeji and Shin Ryujin, first and only pair of teenagers to ever star on the show.

Fresh out of high school, trainees set to debut in different groups of different companies, they’re cast out prematurely into the entertainment industry to create some buzz, get people talking, shoulder the weight of gathering a following for their respective groups to secure a future free of one too many obstacles.

Except, somewhere along the way, duty gets painted over with something electric pink, something that intoxicates with the smell of roses until thorns catch on numb fingers, and everything comes gloriously crashing down.

Kun watches two young girls fall in love but fails to see why they have to be the only ones to know.

They say love isn’t everything, but Kun would point them to Hwang Yeji and Shin Ryujin, show them how they fell (fast and hard) as people found out what they had was something real through grainy pictures taken in places there should’ve been no cameras, as their companies ripped them apart, because how can one possibly be trusted to be an idol when they’ve already caught themselves up in a scandal as trainees?

One month of radio silence turned into two, and twenty-five days after that came the announcement. There would be two less girl groups debuting that year.

Nevermind that they were young, nevermind that the companies had presented water to parched throats and said _no more than one sip_ , nevermind that they never should’ve been the ones to blame.

Love isn’t everything, but it can bring down anything, and isn’t that pretty much the same thing?

(Kun sits down after the announcement and promises himself to never let two people hurt like that again, not under his watch.)

Here’s what Kun knows: Young, young hearts that don’t know how to keep themselves safe are dangerous. Young, young hearts that belong to young, young actors are doubly so.

For young, young actors, love is a script of false realities. Love is _try to look more natural in the next take_ and _kiss, but angle your heads so the camera can catch you this time_. Lines get blurry, distinguishing what’s real and what isn’t becomes impossible, and ‘something real’ becomes fantastical.

So, when two boys preparing themselves for their definitions of love to be scrambled until they’re unidentifiable think they’ve found something real in each other, you can’t blame them for the want, the desire to be anchored, the need to learn _real_ before real gets put on the backburner.

Mark and Donghyuck and the tangible strings of honey binding them together.

 _Who’s_ _to say they know how to play their cards right_ after _that?_

They know how it’s going to end, so why bother with poker faces?

A lazy day of cuddling on the couch while watching TV won’t make for exciting content, but Kun lets them have it. One more month, and it’ll all be gone.

Mark has an arm thrown over Donghyuck, and when he tugs him in closer, a conflicted look passing over Donghyuck’s face before it melts and he lets himself fall into Mark, Kun wonders if Mark knows what he’s doing. What he’s doing to himself, to Donghyuck.

But then a small sigh escapes him (one that, perhaps with a lot of overlooking, could be masked as contentment) and a wistful smile pulls on his lips. He laces their fingers together in his lap, keeping his eyes on the TV as he quietly asks the question that reminds Kun that he does know, he just wants to pretend he doesn’t, “If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?”

Donghyuck twists his head up from Mark’s shoulder, dripping with affection as he replies, just as quietly, like it’s a secret, “And what makes you think I’d rather be anywhere but here?”

Mark swallows, smile confused on whether to stay or go, and he looks at Donghyuck in a way that criminalizes the cameras, the staff, anyone who isn’t the two of them and still gets to sit in on this moment.

A barely audible laugh leaves him as he shakes his head fondly and taps their foreheads together.

“Really, Hyuck.”

Kun doesn’t miss the way Donghyuck’s smile shrinks when he says _really_ , eyes flicking to a camera lightning fast before something wraps over him, has him pulling back to settle onto Mark’s shoulder again like everything is just fine. His fingers tighten around Mark’s.

“I guess I’ve always wanted to visit Osaka. It’d be kinda fun to get lost in a city where no one knows who you are.”

It’s too much. Kun motions for Joohyun to take over his angle with a wet heat burning over his eyes, turns off his camera, and leaves the room.

Their goodbye is small and simple.

It’s an intentional choice made by the boys, anyone can see that. Gone are the playful, teasing dynamics and the blown-up affection. Gone are the Mark and Donghyuck that have been curated one-dimensionally for a keen future audience, replacing them are another Mark and Donghyuck. A quieter, gentler Mark and Donghyuck that, perhaps, would be seen in an alley somewhere with hoodies and ballcaps instead of crisp shirts and mic packs.

They find themselves back in the classroom, the beginning of a beginning that was fated to end, except this time, Donghyuck sits at the desk and Mark stands at the front of the classroom with a guitar and a planned farewell speech.

We Got Married doesn’t come with a script, per se, but Mark still manages to clip every one of his words like he’s been programmed to say them. Kun recognizes it as a last-ditch attempt to save himself, remnants of his heart finally pushed back under his ribs, but it’s fruitless to keep the emotions at bay now.

Still, Mark soldiers on. It’s the most Kun’s seen of actor Lee Mark, and it nearly breaks his heart.

Donghyuck doesn’t take his eyes off Mark once through his stiff, mottled litany of half-truths. He leans forward on the desk, chin on the palm of his hand, and soaks in everything Mark is saying like he’s been ordered to transcribe it later, like he doesn’t care that Mark isn’t actually bidding him a proper goodbye, like he knows why.

A crack only appears in his script when Mark pauses, takes in a breath, and says, “I swear I know your favourite song but I really don’t want to ruin it for you by attaching it to a sad memory, so here’s the song you hate the most in the world, I guess, and another reason to hate it.”

And it’s so much like Mark, _The Worst Date Ever_ Mark, that it seems to startle a laugh out of Donghyuck, whose eyes grow sadder and shinier by the second as he voices his gratitude, and then Mark starts playing a hit by The Chainsmokers, Kun thinks, one from a few years back.

His smooth voice breaks halfway, falling quieter as he tries to keep going but eventually—eventually there is just Mark’s bowed head, fingers clutching the neck of a guitar, and sniffs that ring loud in the silence of the room.

It feels wrong, following Donghyuck’s figure with the camera as he walks over to Mark, holds the sides of his face, wipes away his tears lightly, looks like he’s holding back tears himself. It feels wrong to film his smile, watery and half-hearted, quarter-hearted, eighth-hearted, as he picks up where Mark left off in a low, tender voice.

Kun doesn’t need to look around the room this time to find that no one is looking at the two boys, but this time, it’s on purpose.

Mark follows Donghyuck with his eyes as he eases the guitar out of his hands, leaning it against the chalkboard ledge. When he finally stops singing, Mark fills the silence immediately, the words pushing themselves out of his mouth like they’ve been waiting an eternity to leave.

“I’ll miss you, Donghyuck.”

“You’re such an over-feeler,” Donghyuck teases softly, entwining their hands.

Mark purses his lips, firm despite the redness to his eyes, and brings their hands up to lay a kiss on Donghyuck’s knuckles.

“I will, Hyuck,” he murmurs against the skin.

Tears pool in Donghyuck’s eyes quickly after that, all pretenses falling to the floor.

“I know,” he whispers, a broken sound. “Me too. So much.”

Mark pulls him in the rest of the way, and they slot together perfectly for a hug, tight and warm and loving and _real_. They don’t let go, and Kun realizes that they won’t, not for a while. So, he gestures for everyone to leave the room, steps away from his camera stand, and makes sure to shut the door behind him.

The least he can do is give them this. One last time.

Just when Kun’s starting to shake the heartache, something new pops up.

A month after shooting ended, Kun’s pulled into the editing room by Dejun, who’s been tasked with organizing usable footage for the last few episodes of the show. He makes Kun take a seat in front of the computer, wringing his hands nervously as he finally blurts out, “I’m just not sure about the last few clips. Do you mind taking a look?”

“I mean, doesn’t seem like I have a choice, do I?” Kun jokes, but it doesn’t seem to ease Dejun’s nerves, only managing to draw out an awkward laugh and a mumbled response that’s hard to make out before the boy is bowing and promptly exiting the room.

He ignores the odd behaviour and the sudden strange signals his gut is relaying to him and turns the monitor on, playing through footage from the very last episode. Nothing seems out of place until he reaches the end. On-screen, Mark and Donghyuck go in for the hug, and a few moments pass until footsteps are heard migrating out of the room. That’s where the video should stop.

Except, it keeps going, and Kun realizes belatedly, lips parting in surprise as he straightens up in the chair, that he’d forgotten to turn his camera off.

For a few beats, there’s nothing but the faint breathing the mics pick up. Then, the audio fills with rustling clothes and the boys pull back just enough to look into each other’s eyes.

A few more heavy breaths. A smile that cries of heartbreak. Another.

Mark brings up a hand cradle Donghyuck’s face, his voice comes out soft and utterly wrecked.

“Were we—was it—”

“Don’t. Don’t ask, hyung. Please,” Donghyuck cuts in desperately. “It’ll be so much worse if you do.”

Mark thumbs over Donghyuck’s cheek delicately, like too harsh a touch will unravel him entirely. “It—it was good, though. Whatever it was, it was so good.”

Kun can’t look away, the fading ache in his heart comes back tenfold, throbbing in a way that has him reaching up to put a hand over his chest, making sure that nothing’s trying to escape.

“ _Fuck_ , hyung,” Donghyuck forces out with a sudden burst of energy, features scrunched up in frustration. It makes Kun start, never in all those months of filming had he heard Donghyuck use any sort of curse word. “Why couldn’t we have met as different people? Anyone but us. Here. Now. _Fuck_.”

Mark takes a minute to gently rub the frustration out of Donghyuck’s forehead, the set of his mouth, his knitted eyebrows. Donghyuck’s eyes flutter shut, body going limp as the tension bleeds out of him with every one of Mark’s touches.

Kun isn’t expecting it when Mark curls a finger under Donghyuck’s chin, looks at him with big, sad eyes and a small smile, and breathes, “Kiss me before you go?”

Donghyuck’s eyes open and he’s already nodding, already leaning in, “Yeah, hyung.”

A hair’s width apart, they stop.

“Just once,” Donghyuck whispers, he promises it with his eyes glued to Mark’s lips, and Kun’s not sure if he’s saying it for Mark’s sake or his own. “Just—”

It’s sweet, a short press of the lips more than anything. Kun remembers honey, remembers the sticky feeling of being caught in its fine threads—for a first kiss, it makes sense.

They break apart, breath mingling for one, two, three heartbeats, and then Mark is surging forward again with intent and Kun finally breaks out of his daze to slam the spacebar, pausing the video. 

It doesn’t take any ruminating for him to cut the entire section out, delete it, and turn off the monitor.

Seven years in the industry and Kun still hasn’t learned not to care.

DONGHYUCK PRE-MEET INT. CUT – ep. 0

**J: Okay, last question. Do you think you could fall in love?**

D: Oh! Wow, um… I should say no, right? [Laughs] I’ve always liked a good challenge, so how about this? If they don’t, I won’t either. Sound good?

**J: Perfect, thanks, Donghyuck.**

**Author's Note:**

> hey remember when i said this series would only be full of fics that are 2-3k :) remember that :) 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/punksunlight)


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